


make the grade

by mrbuttersworthless (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oneshot, Short One Shot, dave strider is bad at feelings, johndave - Freeform, wrote this after watching cmbyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mrbuttersworthless
Summary: dave can't find a job.
Relationships: John Egbert/Dave Strider
Kudos: 18





	make the grade

“hey dude, making some breakfast ?” you take about two steps out of your shared room to see john in the tiny kitchen, standing over an equally tiny stove.

“yep. eggs,” he flips four eggs in a pan, two of which are in heart-shaped moulds. “why do you still call me ‘dude’ ? did you forget we’re dating already ?” john turns towards you. you could now see he’s wearing an apron that said _culinary badass_ in huge letters. the eggs are starting to burn.

“dunno. habit i guess,” you pour yourself a glass of chocolate milk and sit down. john sets a plate in front of you with the two heart-shaped eggs, giving himself the normal eggs. “what the fuck are you doing, john,” why is he putting ketchup on the eggs.

“doing what ?” that bastard. acting innocent.

“ketchup. eggs. stop that.”

he sets the ketchup down, but it’s too late. the eggs are absolutely drenched in it. “you’ve never seen anyone put ketchup on eggs ?”

“of course i have. my sleep paralysis demon does it all the time. tabasco sauce is so much better on eggs, man, you wouldn’t even know.” john has his face propped upon his hand, his elbow resting on the table. “oh by the way, where is the tabasco ?”

“out,” john says around a mouthful of ketchup-egg soup. you slam your fist on the table and walk away before coming back and slurping the rest of your eggs. no utensils, only slurp. john watches in horror.

“i’m going back to bed.”

“dave, it’s 11 am. don’t you have a job ?”

shit. “don’t you ?” nice save.

“yeah. night shift. as far as i know, mcdonald’s isn’t open 24/7, though.”

well, you’re fucked. maybe you should just be honest ? no, because then he’ll want an explanation as to why and how. maybe you can only tell half of the truth. oh god, he’s staring at you. “i got fired,”

“oh no ! when ?” that wasn’t the reaction you expected. a lot less shouting, definitely.

you lie again. “yesterday. they found someone to replace me.” you feel bad, kind of.

“that sucks. guess we’ll have to cancel dinner at the new italian place.” he doesn’t seem very disappointed, but you get that all too familiar feeling that deep down he is.

“yeah, it looked like trash anyways. the flyer didn’t even spell pastrami right,” you put the plate in the sink. “maybe i can cook that night instead ?

“what are you implying ?” he scrapes charred egg flakes off of the pan.

“your cooking sucks.” you give him a small kiss on the forehead and walk into the area-of-the-apartment-with-two-beanbag-chairs-and-a-tv room.

* * *

“dave ! dave, wake up !” you blink groggily and put on your shades. john is sitting all the way up, looking out the window. warm light streams from the window and settles on john’s brown skin, and you can’t help but notice how his deep blue eyes contrast - “did you even hear me ?” he smiles at you and grabs your arm.

“why’d you wake me up,” you mumble. john points out the window.

“birds !”

“john you’re so cute it’s disgusting.” two birds are sitting on a branch outside the window and john stares at them in childlike wonder. you have to admit, even though it’s ass-crack early you're  happy john woke you up. not because of the birds, that’d be stupid. no, you just like seeing john so... happy. you and him have always differed in that aspect. john would always find so much joy in little stupid things like birds and dumb movies and heart shaped eggs, but overall when those were gone or over he would be so melancholy and sad. you hate seeing him like that, so you often go out of your way to bring home new dumb movies or crack jokes or just generally spend time with him any chance you have. you, on the other hand, feel  emotions on a broader scale. you guess that’s the strider way, mellow and chill and _unfeeling_. at least on the surface, you are. 

“you’re cuter,” he smiles and looks at you. “by the way, have you been looking for a job ?” you stiffen. he notices, “you really should, dave. i know it seems impossible but if we lose this apartment -”

you hate it when he overthinks, “we won’t. i’ll start looking.”

* * *

"john it's fine. we'll be fine, you'll find another job soon."

"oh, yeah, like you we're able to find one. god, dave, how fucking stupid do you think i am? i know you're not looking for a job! it's been, what 4 months since you've been laid off? fuck, we're gonna lose the apartment. dave what if we lose the apartment? i -" you kiss him. he doesn't exactly reciprocate, he just holds you as his tears wet your own freckled cheeks. when you break away he takes a shaky breath and presses his face into your chest. you wrap your arms around him and notice how thin he's gotten. money's been tight, but you didn't realize it was that bad. maybe you're just used to going without food sometimes.

"it's gonna be okay."

"don't lie to me, dave."

all you can do is hold him there, all of your barriers down and feeling completely vulnerable. in this moment you feel small in your tiny shoebox of an apartment, knowing that there's a thousand other people who've been through the same thing. it's almost comforting.

"please," he inhales sharply and you feel your shirt is slightly wet with tears. "please, don't leave me."

"why would i do that?"

"why wouldn't you? i don't have a job, i'm a complete wreck," he laughs bitterly, "it's a wonder you're still with me!"

"i love you." silence. "john?"

he sighs. "i love you too."


End file.
